“My life belongs to the king, whose are all things; nevertheless I swear—­the high-priest-by the most high God, whom I have served faithfully for thirty years, that I know nothing of my brother’s presence in Babylon yesterday.”

“Your face looks as if you were speaking the truth.”

“You know that I was not absent from your side the whole of that high holiday.”

“I know it.”

Again the doors opened; this time they admitted the trembling Mandane.  The high-priest cast such a look of astonishment and enquiry on her, that the king saw she must be in some way connected with him, and therefore, taking no notice of the trembling girl who lay at his feet, he asked:  “Do you know this woman?”

“Yes, my King.  I obtained for her the situation of upper attendant to the—­may Auramazda forgive her!—­King of Egypt’s daughter.”

“What led you,—­a priest,—­to do a favor to this girl?”

“Her parents died of the same pestilence, which carried off my brothers.  Her father was a priest, respected, and a friend of our family; so we adopted the little girl, remembering the words:  ’If thou withhold help from the man who is pure in heart and from his widow and orphans, then shall the pure, subject earth cast thee out unto the stinging-nettles, to painful sufferings and to the most fearful regions!’ Thus I became her foster-father, and had her brought up with my youngest brother until he was obliged to enter the school for priests.”

The king exchanged a look of intelligence with Phanes, and asked:  “Why did not you keep the girl longer with you?”

“When she had received the ear-rings I, as priest, thought it more suitable to send such a young girl away from my house, and to put her in a position to earn her own living.”

“Has she seen your brother since she has been grown up?”

“Yes, my King.  Whenever Gaumata came to see me I allowed him to be with her as with a sister; but on discovering later that the passionate love of youth had begun to mingle with the childish friendship of former days, I felt strengthened in my resolution to send her away.”

“Now we know enough,” said the king, commanding the high-priest by a nod to retire.  He then looked down on the prostrate girl, and said imperiously:  “Rise!”

Mandane rose, trembling with fear.  Her fresh young face was pale as death, and her red lips were blue from terror.

“Tell all you know about yesterday evening; but remember, a lie and your death are one and the same.”

The girl’s knees trembled so violently that she could hardly stand, and her fear entirely took away the power of speaking.

“I have not much patience,” exclaimed Cambyses.  Mandane started, grew paler still, but could not speak.  Then Phanes came forward and asked the angry king to allow him to examine the girl, as he felt sure that fear alone had closed her lips and that a kind word would open them.